


chasing rainbows

by sourschlatt



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Cliche, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Getting Back Together, High School, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, george is sad, i don’t know what else to tag here tbh, once again, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourschlatt/pseuds/sourschlatt
Summary: George still loved him and Nick just wants things to go back to normal.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 28





	chasing rainbows

Walking into that damned school, with it’s bustling hallways and the bright, fluorescent lights shining down in the tired eyes of all the students, was still something that George hated with his entire being.

And it was all because of a stupid fucking boy.

Everywhere he looked, it was like a memory was attached to it. The individual lockers all seemed to hold their own memory, like if he opened them he would find an image looking back at him.

Even walking down the hall, where he used to hold _his_ hand, was torture.

To say the least, George did not, and still was not, handling his breakup with Clay very well. At all.

Most people would be well over their ex in almost two years, the thought of that person barely in the back of their head. But George was not the same. Every time he breathed he could swear he smelt the cologne that Clay used to wear. Any time he brushed something soft he could swear that he was touching the dirty blonde locks that belonged to his ex-boyfriend.

George scoffed to himself as he walked down the hallway, adjusting his backpack as he manoeuvred his way around the students to find his locker.

Jesus christ, the last place he wanted to be was here.

George placed his hand on the cold metal of his locker, twisting the lock in an attempt to open it. When he pulled it open, his eyes went to the door out of impulse.

He had taken down the pictures a few weeks after the breakup. There used to be polaroids littered everywhere, their faces smiling back at him.

George used to think that transferring to Florida from London was the best thing that ever happened to him, but now he genuinely thought that it was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He found himself thinking back on his past wrong doings to try and find something that the universe may be trying to bite him in the ass for.

The british boy shoved his unneeded books into his locker, clenching his jaw as he slammed the door shut. It drew attention, but George couldn’t be bothered to care.

“George!”

George unclenched his jaw and turned around, readjusting his backpack once again as he faced his friend.

“Hi, Nick.”

"You seem happy," the boy mocked, leaning against the lockers next to where he was standing after finally making it down the hallway. "What's got you in such a good mood?"

George scoffed, knowing damn well that drowning himself in the sorrows of the past was only going to enhance the situation at hand. He knew that there was nothing more that he could do to change the outcome of events and manipulate them in his favour, and suppressing the way he felt was only going to make things harder to cope with later on. If he had to be here, which he did, he needed to find a way to disassociate everything from that boy, detach _him_ from his memories of everything. He'd already spent every waking moment of the past year trying to figure out how to do that, and he knew it was hopeless for as long as, amongst all these hundreds of people floating around the corridors, Clay was still _somewhere_.

"Sorry," he replied, shaking himself from his trance, allowing himself to be present once again. "I'm alright, just tired." 

Nick furrowed his eyebrows, and took in the state of his friend. He knew that George had taken the breakup hard, probably worse than most people he knew that were heartbroken. There had been countless nights that George had called him crying, or when he would have to go over at 2am on a week day and comfort his friend because he felt unsafe. It had been way worse than Clay had taken it, he knew.

Despite this, it had been almost two years since the breakup, and George still seemed to be suffering. The lack of gaining any weight and the dark bags under his eyes were evident.

“You say that every time,” Nick said as they began to walk, pushing through the dense crowd of students.

“Well, I’m always tired. Why are you in such a good mood?” George questioned back, his eyes never breaking their gaze in front of him. He was desperate to change the topic before Nick asked him why, exactly he was tired. It was always the same answer, anyways. Why did he even bother asking at this point?

"I know what you're doing, George," he said in a solacing tone, letting the conversation pass at the obvious tension coming from the other boy. "I'm just glad i got to see you, finally."

George snickered, pushing himself away from the lockers as a gesture for Nick to follow. "Cute," he teased, relief finally starting to settle in as the loneliness that was present only moments ago began to deteriorate from the company of his friend. He knew that he was lucky to have someone who cared enough about him, but a lot of the time he wasn't very good at expressing it. His emotional capacity had been preoccupied with something else for as long as he could physically bring himself to remember, though.

He'd forgotten what it had been like before Clay took up every moment of George's headspace, a constant noise that blurred out everything. He was all he thought about, and it made him sick to his stomach. It was getting harder to deal with. He wished it would go away.

“Are you not excited to see me, George?” Nick asked, and George saw his friend place a hand over his shoulder in feigned hurt. The movement brought a small smile to the british boy’s face.

“Shut up, Nick. Of course I’m excited to see you.”

Nick grinned and hummed in approval, and George chuckled underneath his breath.

At least there was this thing to distract him from the inevitable that was going to come. It was only a matter of time until he bumped into Clay, or caught glimpse of that blonde hair and pretty smile and freckle littered cheeks. Only a matter of time before his chest felt like it was being sat on and he was barely able to breathe.

“Do you know if we have any classes together?” Nick asked, cutting George’s dread short for the time being. Thank god for small miracles.

“Uh, I don’t know. And honestly, I don’t feel like pulling my schedule out right now, so I guess we’re just gonna have to find out.” George responded. It seemed that the lack of dread was short lived, though, because a new thought had entered the brunette’s mind.

Was he going to have classes with Clay?

He was lucky enough to only have two classes with his ex-boyfriend last year, and they were only one term each, so he had gotten as lucky as he could have gotten without sharing any classes with him.

George had nearly failed those classes. He wouldn’t pay attention to anything the teacher said, hardly. He would always have to focus on his breathing, and if it wasn’t that then he was paying attention to anything that the blonde may have been saying from the other side of the room. It really was a miserable experience.

There had been a time when Clay had mentioned a girl, and that was the only time that George had let himself react to anything. Clay had mentioned he had been talking to her, and all George could remember was standing up and storming out, his eyes burning and limbs numb. He couldn’t handle it.

He still couldn’t.

“I guess,” Nick responded, and George nodded, swallowing down the growing lump in his throat.

God, he should have done online school.

Every time that he thought back to it, the same wave of nausea crushed any foundation of security built up that it had when he had first heard about it. Every time he heard the boy even _mention_ somebody else, a fire ignited in his chest and refused to stop burning. Whenever he heard his voice, the smoke began to suffocate him.

All he had to do was check off each of his classes as they went by in hopes that his luck hadn't run out from the previous year, but it barely felt like luck, and he could really use some of it. One of the worst scenarios that could play out is that he would have to transfer to different classes in order to avoid the one person he did not want to see, but frankly he enjoyed what he was studying, and he didn't want to ruin whatever future he had any more than he already did because of Clay.

Part of him wished he had the ability to go to Nick and spill out all of his troubled thoughts that had clustered in the recent weeks, but the guilt of always relying on him overrode the desperate need to come clean. It wasn't like he had no idea how George was feeling, but the evident lack of knowledge wasn't going to help either of them.

The bell trilled, and the sound of tired and excited students elevated in volume. 

“Okay, well, I’ll see you soon. Same table at lunch, you know the deal.” Nick called as George as the two boys began to depart. It took everything in him to not reach out to Nick and beg him to transfer into all the classes that George had just in case his luck really had run out and he had to see Clay.

George simply nodded and turned, his hands balling into fists by his side. He hated how weak he was. He hated how much he loved Clay and how much he had depended on him.

He walked into his classroom and chose his seat in the back, deciding that he wanted to be closer to the door just in case he decided he needed to flee from the confining walls.

George rested his head against his fist, his brown eyes staring forward at the board in the front of the class. A blank board. A new, fresh start, which is just what he needed. Or wanted, rather.

George diverted his eyes to his desk and started to chew on the inside of his cheek. He hated everything about this situation. He hated _himself._

It was going to be a long, long year.


End file.
